Dangerous Deception

by Beverly Barton

  “He’s very sure of himself, isn’t he?”

  Dom brought her hands to his lips, kissed them both, then gazed into her eyes. “Be a good girl while I’m gone and don’t give Deke too much trouble.”

  “I promise I won’t give Mr. Bronson any trouble.” She wouldn’t be a problem for Deke Bronson because she wouldn’t be in Chattanooga.

  When Dom wrapped his arms around her, they exchanged a passionate kiss that left Lausanne weak. He released her slowly, apparently as reluctant as she to let go.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I get some answers from Ms. Reynolds.” Dom caressed Lausanne’s cheek.

  “Be careful, okay?”

  He grinned. “I will. And you stay safe, honey.”

  “I’ll try.”

  She walked with Dom into the living room, then when he lifted his duffle bag and headed for the door, she stood back and watched him. He paused in the doorway.

  “Lock up as soon as I’m gone,” he told her. “And don’t open the door for anyone except Deke.”

  She nodded.

  “Lausanne…”

  “You’d better go.”

  “Yeah, I…uh…Just take care of yourself while I’m gone.”

  As soon as he shut the door, she locked it before rushing into her bedroom to find the phone book. After arranging for a rental car to pick her up, she dragged out a pair of jeans, a cotton knit sweater and a medium weight jacket. After dressing, she slipped on a pair of high dollar athletic shoes. Her attire was fashionable enough for travel. She’d easily fit into the crowd at the airports. Atlanta. Sao Paulo. Buenos Aires.

  THE DUNDEE JET LANDED at the Ezeiza International Airport at 10:46 the following day. With the three-hour time difference, it was a little after seven back in Chattanooga. That meant Lausanne had been at work for over an hour and was probably right in the middle of serving the breakfast crowd at the Chicken Coop. Maybe he should wait until nine, when she’d be due a break, to contact her. But he had promised her he’d call as soon as he landed.

  “Señor Shea,” a small, well-dressed man in his late forties approached Dom on the tarmac, making Dom wonder if he was an airport employee.

  “I’m Dom Shea.”

  The man greeted him warmly, with a wide smile and an extended hand. “Hola. I am Tito Gomez. I have arranged for you to go through customs rapidamente, without delay. And I have arranged for remise, car service. Come with me, por favor.”

  Following Señor Gomez, Dom entered the terminal through a special entrance reserved for those traveling on private airplanes. Just as Gomez had told him, Dom passed through customs rapidly, his single carry-on not even checked.

  “Tiene algo para declarar?” the custom’s agent asked.

  “No, no.” Gomez shook his head.

  “No tengo nada para declarar,” Dom said.

  “You speak Spanish muy bien,” Gomez said.

  “My grandparents were from Mexico,” Dom replied.

  “Ah, sí, sí.” Gomez picked up Dom’s black vinyl bag. “It is best we speak English. Many here understand the language, but all understand Spanish. Yes?”

  Dom nodded. Yes, he understood. For their private conversations, fewer people would understand what they were saying if they spoke in English.

  Gomez led Dom from the terminal to the waiting car, a black, late-model Japanese make, with leather seats and a sunroof. The driver took Dom’s duffle bag, then opened the back door for his clients before depositing the bag in the trunk.

  Once seated, Gomez turned to Dom. “We are thirty-five kilometers southwest of the city. We will talk now while we ride. I will explain what I know.”

  Dom checked his wristwatch. He needed to phone Lausanne soon and give her an update. She was probably concerned that he hadn’t called her.

  While Gomez talked, Dom removed his cell phone from the belt clip and groaned when he realized he had not turned his phone back on after the Dundee jet landed.

  “There is a Señorita Mary Ray staying at the Alvear Palace Hotel,” Gomez said. “I have seen the lady with my own eyes—” he tapped the edge of his temple next to his right eye “—and I look at the picture faxed to me and I look at this Mary Ray. If she is not Megan Reynolds, they are twins.”

  The minute Dom turned on his cell phone, he noticed he had four messages. Had Lausanne been trying to contact him? Uneasiness knotted his stomach muscles.

  “Then you’re saying you found Megan Reynolds, that we know where she is?” Dom asked.

  “Sí.”

  “I want to go straight to the hotel and see her immediately. I don’t want her to have any advance warning. It needs to be a surprise visit. Do you understand?”

  “Sí, yes, yes. But we must wait.”

  “Why?”

  “We do not have her room number.” When Dom glared at Gomez, the man shook his finger back and forth. “No, no problem. We will get the room number. Soon.

  “I know a bellman who does not come to work until mas tarde, later in the day.”

  Dom nodded. “I need to make a phone call.”

  “Sí.”

  When Dom checked his first message, the voice he heard was not the soft sweet voice of the woman he’d left safely behind in Chattanooga.

  “Damn it, Shea, we have a problem. Call me as soon as you get this message,” Deke Bronson had said.

  “Is something wrong, Señor Shea?” Gomez looked at Dom, an expression of concern in his black eyes.

  “I’m not sure,” Dom replied, then listened to the second recorded message.

  “Yeah, it’s Bronson here. Your lady friend has flown the coop. She wasn’t at her apartment when I arrived to take her to work this morning. I checked at the restaurant. No one had seen her or knows where she is.”

  Dom cursed under his breath.

  “There is a problem?” Gomez asked.

  “Yeah, but it’s nothing you can fix.”

  Gomez stared at him, puzzlement on his face.

  “This is my problem,” Dom said. “I will have to take care of it.”

  Gomez nodded.

  Dom listened to the third message.

  “Lausanne booked a flight out of Atlanta last night. Her plane should land in Sao Paulo, Brazil at ten forty-five,” Deke said. “If there are no delays, she’ll be at Ezezia around two this afternoon.”

  “God damn it!” Dom clutched the small cellular phone until he heard a distinct crack, then realized what he was doing and loosened his hold.

  Gomez simply stared at Dom, saying nothing.

  Dom listened to the fourth and final message.

  “Hi, Dom, it’s Daisy. The Bedell assignment is officially closed. Mr. Bedell no longer requires Dundee’s services. If you don’t need Deke in Chattanooga…”

  Dom deleted the message, then turned to Gomez. “Have the driver turn around. We’re going back to the airport.”

  “Qué?”

  “I need to go back to the airport and wait on a flight arriving from Sao Paulo at two o’clock,” Dom explained, then dialed the preprogrammed Dundee headquarters number on his cell phone.

  “Dundee Private Security and Investigation Agency,” Daisy said.

  “It’s Dom.”

  “Are you in Buenos Aires?”

  “I was on my way from the airport to downtown, along with Señor Gomez. We’re turning around and heading back.”

  “You got my message.”

  “Bring Deke in,” Dom said. “There’s no reason for him to stay in Chattanooga.”

  “I know you’re probably very upset with Ms. Raney—”

  “You think!”

  “I’m sorry, Dom. I know you’re worried about her. But it’s not as if she’ll be all alone in a foreign country. She’ll be with you.”

  “I may not be checking in for a while. Let Sawyer know that I’ll be on my own time not only down here in Argentina, but when I return to the U.S., too. I’m taking a leave of absence. I’ll book a commercial flight home.”

  “The Dundee
jet is staying there in Buenos Aires for now,” Daisy said. “I won’t bring it back to Atlanta until it’s needed. It’s yours as long as it’s free. And I’ll contact you before I recall the plane.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Good luck down there.”

  Dom clipped his cell phone on the belt loop and turned to Señor Gomez. “This is only a minor delay. I have to pick up a friend at the airport, then we’ll all go to the Alvear Palace Hotel together.”

  But not before he’d given Lausanne a piece of his mind.

  LAUSANNE BOARDED the Aerolineas Argentinas afternoon flight for Aeropuerto Internacional Ministro Pistarini de Ezeiza. After finding her seat by the window and placing her carry-on in the overhead, she situated herself comfortably and fastened her safety belt. By now, Deke Bronson would have reported her absence to Dom and no doubt he was fighting mad. He’d know she had disregarded his orders about staying put in Chattanooga and would figure she was heading for Buenos Aires. And so she was. In less than three hours, the Boeing 737 would land and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that Dom would be there waiting for her. Yes, he would be upset, even angry with her. But she’d deal with him. She had to make him see that her taking a separate flight to South America was all his fault. If he’d simply agreed to take her along on the Dundee jet with him, then…It sounded perfectly logical to her, but what if Dom didn’t see it that way?

  She had promised him she would behave herself, but she hadn’t promised not to follow him to Argentina.

  Later, after the plane was in the air and the seat belt light went off, Lausanne leaned her head against the cushioned rest and closed her eyes. Had Dom’s contact in Buenos Aires found Megan Reynolds? Would Dom have already had time to question the woman? She had no idea how much quicker Dom had made the long overnight trip from Chattanooga to Argentina than she had, but flying on a private jet had to have cut his air time by several hours. And her hour long layover in Brazil had added extra time to her journey.

  It was possible that when she arrived in Buenos Aires, Dom would have all the answers, that when he met her at the airport, he might actually have Ms. Reynolds with him. If that were the case, they could all board the Dundee jet and fly home, back to Chattanooga, where Ms. Reynolds would tell the police who had paid her off and why.

  If only it could be that simple. But in Lausanne’s experience, nothing was ever that cut and dried. Even if Ms. Reynolds was still in Buenos Aires, it might take days or even weeks to find her, if then. And there was always the possibility that she would slip through their fingers and disappear off the face of the earth.

  MEGAN KNEW she couldn’t stay on in Buenos Aires indefinitely. But she had to wait until arrangements had been made for her to receive her final payment. Once she had another million deposited to her account, she would move on, perhaps to Hawaii, then to Australia. Of course, she needed to put her funds in an international bank, either the Caymans or Switzerland. For the first few years, she’d need to keep moving from place to place, then eventually she’d settle somewhere, maybe the south of France. She’d heard it was beautiful there.

  But she’d really hate leaving Buenos Aires, especially leaving this luxurious room here at the Alvear Palace Hotel. Although the exterior of the hotel was under renovation, the available interior rooms were elegant. Her room was decorated in Louis XVI style and featured personal butler service, which she absolutely adored. Having someone at her beck and call, using Hermès de Paris and being pampered in the luxurious spa gave Megan a preview of what her life was going to be like from now on.

  She’d lived from paycheck to paycheck for years, before, during and after her marriage that had ended three years ago. Trey Colby had been a big mistake, one she had rectified by acquiring a divorce. Her employer, Audrey Perkins, had applauded her for having the guts to get rid of her deadbeat husband.

  “I’d divorce Gray tomorrow, if I could,” Audrey had said.

  “Why can’t you?” Megan had asked.

  Audrey had laughed. “Because Daddy handpicked Gray for me and he wouldn’t like it if I divorced the man he thinks is such a perfect son-in-law.”

  There had been times when she’d felt sorry for Audrey. But not often. Audrey hadn’t made it easy for anyone to like her. She’d been a royal, first-class bitch.

  A light rapping on the door snapped Megan out of her thoughts about her former boss. That would be Andres with the late lunch she’d ordered: parrillada, a salad and fried potatoes.

  Megan opened the door to find a tall, slender man behind a serving cart. But the man was not her usual butler, Andres.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Mi nombre es Julio,” he replied.

  “Your name is Julio?”

  “Sí, Señorita Ray.”

  “Where is Andres?”

  The man looked at her, puzzlement in his dark eyes. “You don’t speak English do you? Well, never mind. Bring the cart on in and place my lunch on the table.” Using hand movements, she indicated what she wanted him to do.

  He pushed the cart inside, closed the door behind him and studied her hand signals. Once he had set the meal on the table, he pulled out her chair and smiled.

  “Thank you,” she said as she took her seat. “Muchas gracias.”

  He handed her the bill, which she signed and returned to him, then she reached for her mate, a traditional Argentinian drink similar in taste to tea.

  Sensing that Julio was still standing directly behind her, Megan lowered her hand. Was he new at this job? Didn’t he know his tip was included in the price of lunch? She’d have to make him understand somehow. But before she managed to turn around and dismiss him, he slipped a cord around her neck and tightened it quickly, making it impossible for her to speak. She clutched at the cord with clawing motions as she gasped for air.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  WHEELING HER CARRY-ON behind her, Lausanne disembarked, went through customs and searched the crowded airport for Dom. She knew he’d be waiting for her, probably angry and upset that she’d disobeyed his orders. Not being able to speak Spanish, the snippets of overheard conversation all around her were nothing more than background noise. As she moved deeper into the hustle and bustle of the Ezeiza Airport and couldn’t locate Dom, she started worrying. Just a little. What if he wasn’t here? What if he wasn’t going to meet her? Then she’d be alone in a foreign country. The prospect was daunting for a woman who’d never traveled outside the U.S., who actually hadn’t traveled farther west than Texas or farther north than Kentucky.

  He’s here, she told herself. He wouldn’t leave her to fend for herself. Dom cared about her. He’d never desert her. Would he?

  She’d been wrong about guys in the past. What made her think she really knew Dom Shea?

  A big hand came from behind and clamped down on Lausanne’s shoulder while another hand removed hers from the handle of her carry-on and took the case from her. Startled by the unexpected action, she gasped as she glared over her shoulder.

  “Welcome to Buenos Aires, Ms. Raney,” Dom said.

  Breathing a deep sigh of relief, she turned to face him. Ready to throw her arms around him, she hesitated, noting the stern expression on his face.

  “Hi,” she said meekly.

  He eyed her carry-on. “Is this all your luggage?”

  “That’s it.”

  He grasped her arm. “Let’s go. I have a car waiting.”

  She hurried to keep in step with his fast, agitated pace. “Dom?”

  He kept walking, acting as if he didn’t hear her.

  “Please, talk to me. Let me explain.”

  Silence.

  He was really angry with her. No doubt about it.

  “I had to come and talk to Megan Reynolds myself. Please, try to understand.”

  When he continued with the silent treatment, Lausanne halted, giving him two choices: either walk away and leave her or stop. He stopped.

  “Let’s not do this here,” Dom told her. “Mr. Gomez, Du
ndee’s contact in Buenos Aires, has found Ms. Reynolds. She’s at the Alvear Palace Hotel, registered under the name Mary Ray. My guess is that she won’t be in Argentina much longer, so we need to confront her as soon a possible.”

  Lausanne nodded. “Okay.” She looked at Dom, hoping he could see the plea for understanding and forgiveness in her eyes.

  “Why couldn’t you have just stayed in Chattanooga?”

  She tried to smile but the effort failed miserably. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do as you asked. I’m sorry I’m not the type of person who can sit back and let someone else fight her battles, take all the risks, do all the dirty work.” When Dom didn’t reply, simply stared at her, she rushed on. “Megan Reynolds is the person who put me in the dangerous position I’m in right now. I think I have a right to confront her, to demand some answers.”

  Dom groaned. “Now you listen to me and hear me good—when we confront Ms. Reynolds, you keep quiet and let me do all the talking.” Lausanne opened her mouth to protest but Dom cut her off. “Trust me, honey. I know what I’m doing. I’ve had experience at this sort of thing. You haven’t.”

  She hated admitting that he was right, but he was. What if she started shooting questions at Megan Reynolds and the woman clammed up and refused to talk? But did she trust Dom to handle things the right way, if there was a right way?

  Think about it, Lausanne, she told herself. Dom showed up here at the airport just as she’d known he would. He hadn’t let her down, hadn’t deserted her. But could she trust him completely? After all, this was her life, her future, they were talking about, and in the past when she’d put her faith in a man, she’d wound up regretting it. But Dom isn’t Brad and he’s not Clay. He’s a far better man than either of them and you damn well know it.

  “All right,” she said, taking a giant leap of faith. “I’ll trust you to handle things with Megan Reynolds.”

  “Enough so that you’d wait for me in the hotel lobby? I’ll leave Mr. Gomez with you and—”